Flash
by The Ocean Is My Inkwell
Summary: They thought They had exterminated all the mutants. But They hadn't. Set between MAX and FANG. Some Fax, very slight Eggy, and OC/OC. Rated T for thematic elements.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hola, peoples of the Maximum Ride fandom! As you can see, this is my first Maximum Ride fanfic, though definitely not my first fanfic. Actually, if you know my work from other fandoms, you'll immediately note that the chapters of this story are unusually short for my style; ordinarily, my chapters average 3,000 to 5,000 words per chapter. I tried to cut that down by half to sort of meet James Patterson's style halfway.**

**Also, please note that this fanfic is not OC-centric; it is also Max-centric. I'm not trying to steal the spotlight from our adorable Max in any way! By the way, the story is told from two perspectives, my OC Flash, and Max. I write the person's name below each chapter title to let you know which perspective it's in.**

**Thanks! Please read, enjoy, and review! Here are the first 10 chapters. I will be updating in bulk, since the chapters are short anyway.**

Chapter 1

**Flash**

I pressed my face between the cold metal bars, letting their frosty sting slice through my skin. My eyes roved across the scene hungrily: whitecoats scurrying to and fro, Erasers and Flyboys being led out into the clearing, the mutants' cages being loaded onto a cart headed outside.

I pulled back my lips and snarled meanly at the female whitecoat who came to pick up my dog crate. She jumped back, blinking in surprise, then surged forward again and picked up my cage without a second thought or an extra effort. This was no problem for her, 'cause I'm skinny and extra light for my size.

Too bad they had tied me up first before flinging me in my crate. Then the pesky whitecoat wouldn't get the neck-wringing of her life before They killed me.

But let's go back a bit.

I was "born" some thirteen years ago. Or rather, globbed into existence. No parents, no siblings, no nothing. I basically grew up in medium-sized dog crate, until two years ago, when I started to get a little too big and I had to be moved to a large-sized cage. My life consisted mainly of tests, mazes, operations, races, and battles. I was in a place They called the School. And me? I was known as fe6673k.

With that in mind, you can pretty much guess by now why They wanted to kill me. Not just _me_, actually. All the Erasers and Flyboys, those mutated wolf-people and robots, along with the other mutated kids like me: dog-kids, fish-kids, lizard-kids, weird little globs that didn't resemble anything anymore. I was one of the few that survived the whitecoats' _experiments_. I was, essentially, a bird-kid.

But the reason They wanted to kill us all? I have no idea. Maybe They got tired of having us miserable wretched mutants lying around. Maybe the mutations were a horrible testament to Their flea-sized brains. Maybe They were moving out, and we were a useless burden. I, for one, was a number.

I wasn't about to let them kill me so easily. Living in a cramped cage for thirteen years taught me that. I had survived everything, while everyone else fell down dead around me, and I wasn't about to let death conquer me now.

I snapped my head back to face forward. The female whitecoat was gone, and I was rolling down a ramp and outside into the crisp, stinging air in a cart, along with a bunch of other caged creatures that barely resembled humans. I spat in irritation at my feet. _Think, think, think._

If I could just wait until They opened my cage in the clearing...

Then again, it could be that They wouldn't open my cage at all.

But then, if They planned to shoot all of us down, then it only made sense that They would open our cages and make us stand in the clearing. Bingo.

It was only another moment before a male whitecoat came and, indeed, unlatched my cage. I tensed and waited a millisecond. Then, with a snarl of rage, I pounced out and landed solidly on his chest. We rolled about on the grass, and I guess I started to look like a warrior with muddy war paint on my face.

But I hadn't been fed for days, and believe me, even if I'm stronger than the average human wrestler, for me no chow means no pow. The whitecoat grabbed me by the back of my shirt and threw me across the clearing, where I plowed with a suppressed _oof!_ through the muddy grass on the opposite side of the clearing. I shook away the dizziness in my head and concentrated on wriggling my hands free from my ropes.

A couple of whitecoats started barreling toward me. I leaned back, found a sharp branch sticking in my back, and began sawing at my ropes. They snapped apart, and I had barely enough time to flex my arms before I got up and faced the madmen.

Bad idea, I decided.

I aboutfaced instead and got off at a running start. After about five hundred yards, where I faced the woods, I snapped open my wings. I had no choice, anyway, unless I wanted to smash myself into mutant bird-kid pudding against the bark of a tree, no matter what kind.

I lifted into the air with a jerk. Another bad idea, I decided again, to open my sore wings. But the great thing was that I was airborne.

I'd always dreamed of this feeling: soaring high above the trees, brushing past the clouds, feeling the blood pump up and down through my veins as I sucked in big gulps of fresh air.

My fantasy was rudely interrupted by enraged shouts from below and a loud _BANG!_ that popped my ears. I shuddered, and suddenly my pain receptors were firing back to life. Just as I was basking in the glory of my escape, like the idiot I was, I'd been shot. The world before me flashed in angry crimson images in my eyes, and despite all my willpower to keep flapping, my wings folded, and I plummeted to earth.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**Flash**

I woke up lying on the hard, rocky ground, with sharp pebbles sticking me in the back. I groaned and struggled upright, at the same time shaking my head to clear it and trying to take stock of my surroundings. My left wing and arm throbbed fiercely, and I felt the hot, sticky blood oozing through my sleeve. I stretched out my wing tentatively and winced at the pain that shot up to my brain. Shoot, it seemed I would have to walk. I struggled to a sitting position and began to clamber to my knees, when I heard a rustly nearby and instinctively froze. Survival Rule #1: When you sense suspicious elements around, _don't move_. Pretend to be dead. Or else.

I didn't exactly have much time to pretend to be dead, because pretty soon the branches snapped apart, and some intruder came running straight at me. All I saw was white, and I whipped my hand defensively in front of me--unfortunately, it happened to be my injured left arm--and thought _Whitecoats_.

"Hey!"

I dropped my guard at the youngish voice above me. Warily I raised my eyes and saw a youngish person, indeed, standing over me. More like a boy, actually. The sun glinted off his sandy hair, and as he crouched down before me, I saw his bright sky blue eyes studying me keenly.

I took a step back, and at the same time he took a step forward. "Hey, it's okay," he said.

I stumbled to my feet and began to back away, but all of a sudden he came at me and tackled me to the ground. I shrieked in pain and rage. "Get off me!" I snarled.

"No, I won't," he replied, his voice calm and decisive. I struggled against his hold, but he had me pinned down by the wrists, and my injured arm didn't serve me any better than a bleeding, throbbing attachment. Add to that my weakness from starvation. With a sigh of pain and resignation, I stopped struggling.

He slowly released his hold on me. Seeing that I wouldn't up and run away, he cautiously leaned back and rummaged in a backpack I hadn't noticed there slung over his arm. He soon produced a suspicious-looking bottle of suspicious-looking fluid and a suspicious-looking plastic package of a suspicious-looking white cloth. He proceed to gently swab at my arm with the fluid, making it sting. I drew my breath in a hiss.

"Sorry," he said shortly. "Just don't want it to be infected." He then wound the clean white cloth tightly around my arm and cinched it. "Now let me see your wing," he said.

I drew back, glaring at him warily. I moved toward the dimmer shadows, at the same time pulling in my wings behind me. _No use, you idiot,_ I scolded myself. _He already saw them._

"Look, I already saw them," said the boy, as if echoing my thoughts. He got up and began to move toward me.

I bared my teeth at him and growled. "Stay away from me," I hissed.

He gave me a smile of pure confusion. "I'm...trying to help you," he pointed out, much to my annoyance.

I darted a glance at him. Then, slowly, cautiously, I moved back out of the shadows and sat down stiffly opposite him. He gave me a nod and moved around to my back. I unfurled my wings for him. Despite himself, I heard him gasp.

Lost so far? So the whitecoat madmen grafted bird DNA into mine when I was a baby. That explains why I've got light bones and freaking _wings_. But mine, I guess, if I do say so myself, are kind of...astonishing. They're a deep chocolate brown from the top to the secondaries; the primary feathers at the bottom look like they're dipped in white vanilla. The undersides are pure white.

"So," he reported to me, his voice a little distracted, "your left wing has...a hole. Actually, a big hole."

"Idiot," I muttered to myself.

"I'm sorry?"

I shook my head. "Forget it."

"Oh." He turned his head back to my wing, which he gingerly pulled a little bit to spread it out some more. I bit down hard on my lip and sucked in the blood under my teeth. Thank God, he made it quick.

"Okay, the bleeding's stopped," he announced. "I don't think you should move it, though."

I turned around and accosted him with a fierce scowl. "I have to," I snapped. "I've got to get away from this place."

"Then you walk," he said.

I shook my head stubbornly. I got up and stalked toward the center of the tiny clearing, spread my wings, and tried to jump up into the air. To my utter humiliation, I collapsed back into the dust.

"I told you," said the boy with that annoying sense of I-am-right.

I moaned and dropped my head into my hand, sending a little twinge up through the wounded area of my arm. "That means I have to _walk_," I mumbled.

"Exactly my thoughts," he returned, coming over and kneeling beside me. "But you look hungry."

I darted him a wary look from beneath my curtain of dark mahogany hair. But he was already taking my hand and leading me back to the shade, where his backpack lay open on the ground. He released his grip on my wrist and began rummaging around in his pack again until he at last surfaced with a box of granola bars. He held one out to me.

I studied him with my sharp, quick eyes. He was lean, a little dirty, and quite scratched-up, just like me, I quickly realized with a note of surprise. He had a large, loose denim jacket on, which must've belonged to his granddad or something. Maybe he was hiking up here in the mountains. But if he was alone, and had a family back home...oh, no.

"Don't tell anyone about me," I commanded, starting to inch backward again. "Don't you dare."

The boy looked surprised. "Of course I won't tell anyone. But you, like, _seriously_ need food. If I promise not to tell anyone, will you eat?"

I nodded slowly.

"I promise."

I lowered my eyebrows. "All right. Fine."

"Good." He cracked into a smile and beckoned me closer, still holding out the granola bar to me. I tentatively reached out my right hand and snatched it up. Then I scooted away a few inches and sat down about two feet across from him, every muscle in my body still tensed to spring up if he tried anything funny. I settled down, not looking at him, and concentrated on opening the plastic around the bar. Unfortunately, my debilitated arm made this a little hard, and paired with my weird right hand...it seemed I would have to bite it open.

"I'll get that for you," the boy offered. He took the bar and popped open the plastic. I took it back with a curt nod of thanks.

"Uh..." He pointed vaguely at my right hand. "What happened there?"

I growled at him in midchew and rolled my eyes. "What's the matter with you, never seen a prosthetic hand in your whole life?" I shot at him snidely.

"The truth is, no," he admitted with a straight face.

"I'm not a robot. I'm not a handicap, either," I said. I wiggled my metal fingers at him to prove my point.

The boy held up his hands in surrender. "All right, all right. I'm sorry. Didn't mean to offend you." He paused and took a deep breath. "But _They_ did that to you...right?"

I clamped my mouth shut and refused to speak another word. My stomach was practically crawling up my sides, begging for food, but if I decided not to talk to this guy, that meant I would not accept any food from him, either.

"I know you came from the School," the boy said matter-of-factly.

I jerked my head up at him, too surprised to be angry. "How do you know that?" I demanded.

He shrugged. "Obvious enough. It's just a mile east of us." He motioned with his head to indicate what he meant.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You're not human."

He ignored my question, but simply handed me another bar, which I snatched up despite all the willpower built up in me. "So, what's your name?"

I frowned. "I'm called fe6673k."

He gave me a strange look. Then he began to smile. "No, I mean yes, but," he fumbled, "I know you're called a number. But have you actually picked out a name for yourself? Or have you found out your real name?"

I lowered my gaze and shook my head to indicate the negative in reply to both questions.

"Well, then..." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Seems like we'll have to pick a name for you, then. How about Brenda? Maggie? Sarah?"

I looked up at him for a fraction of a second. "I'd like to know who _you_ are," I snapped.

"I'm Jay," he said.

I rolled my eyes. "As in _blue jay_?"

He gave me a solemn nod. "Like you said," he began, "I'm not human." He shrugged off his lumpy denim jacket, threw it down on the ground, and--to my complete, utter, openmouthed surprise--began to spread a huge pair of bright sky blue wings.

I gaped at him.

The boy called Jay sighed. "I broke out of the School, too," he confessed, "about a year ago."

I locked my jaw, feeling the tendon rippling beneath my skin, and stared at him in paranoia.

"Oh, come _on_!" Jay yelled, throwing up his hands. "Don't you speak _English_?"

"As if I don't," I shot back. I jumped to my feet. "Why should I trust you? You could be--you could be a flying Eraser!"

Realization dawned in his eyes. "Oh, I get it. You think I'm gonna kill you."

"Obvious enough," I sasid sarcastically.

He held up his hands. "Wait a minute, wait a minute. Back up a bit. First, please, just sit down."

With a stubborn glare, I did as I was told.

"Okay then, secondly, I am _not_ an Eraser. I'm a bird-kid, just like you," he went on. "I was experiment dx5309t, back when I was born more that thirteen years ago. I'm 98 percent human, 2 percent avian. Meaning bird."

I stared mutely at the toes of my battered, used Converse which were about a size too big for me. Furtively I sneaked a few glances at him, studying him with my raptor vision. His wings were a stunning blue, streaked with snowy white and spotted near the primaries with navy and black. Just like a blue jay's.

"So," said Jay, "could we just start all over again?"

I shrugged with an exaggerated sigh and turned away, saying nothing.

"Then we'll do it this way," he said. "You ask the first question, then me, then you, then me, and so forth. Okay?"

I nodded. I gave him a pointed look. "Why are you helping me?"

He looked taken aback. "Is that your first question?"

I glared at him. "Is _that_ your first question?" I shot back.

"Whoa. Sorry." He held up his hands again. "Well," he said pensively, "I guess...it's just instinct on my part to help you. I was out foraging for food, and I saw you flying and getting shot. You went down, so I ran over as fast as I could to see if you were okay."

I studied my shirt and said nothing.

"Okay, my turn!" Jay said brightly. He was direct to the point. "What did They do to your hand?"

I grimaced at his amazing discretion. (Did you note the sarcasm there? Thanks, I'm glad you didn't.) "It's...a long story," I said evasively, with a surly shadow across my face.

He raised his eyebrows. "We got all night before the whitecoats actually come looking for you. Assuming they actually think you're alive, after they shot you down. So explain away." He began to gather some sticks lying around and pushed them into a pathetic little pile, which he lit with a suspicious-looking cigarette lighter. (Where he got that, I'd love to know.)

I scowled at him across the growing flame. "It was...four years ago," I began, very slowly. "They were...trying to graft some DNA into me. I sort of woke up and fought them, and one of them had a gun with him, and he shot me in the hand. I was so close that my whole hand just ripped off from the blast."

Jay had been studying me intensely. He said nothing. Obviously, he knew it wasn't the end of the story.

"They injected a tranquilizer in me and got the DNA in me, anyway. It took a heck of a while for my arm to heal, 'cause I don't usually get a lot of attention besides being kicked around or beaten up for being 'rebellious'." I snorted. "Then it got into Their birdbrains" --pardon the expression-- "to test my tolerance for pain, since obviously I'm part animal. So I was given a prosthetic hand by surgery. But no anesthesia. Unfortunately, I lived through the entire operation without fainting."

Jay winced. "That's...bad."

I clamped my mouth shut again and redirected my gaze to my shoes. I'd probably said too much already.

"Listen," said Jay, "I don't understand something. I thought the whitecoats grafted the bird DNA into you when you were a baby. Then how come they were putting more in you four years ago? If I'm guessing right that you're about my age, then that means you were already nine years old then."

I glowered sullenly at him. "Is that your second question? It's my turn to ask."

He shrugged. "Sorry. I just...kind of really want to know."

Hm. Someone was actually _interested_ in my story. This was something new. "Yes," I replied curtly, "I was nine. And I was already a bird-kid by that time."

"Then what DNA was that?" he probed.

I pressed my lips together. "I'm 96 percent human, 2 percent avian. The other 2 percent is...bloodhound."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**Max**

"Jeez, Max, I never knew you could cook as well as I can."

I rolled my eyes at Iggy, who was busy shoveling his remaining half of burrito down his mouth without even dropping a bean. "I'm rolling my eyes, Iggy," I informed him.

"I guessed that," he retorted.

"I really, really love your mom, Max!" Nudge gushed at my elbow. Sheesh, why did the motor mouth have to be seated right next to me at dinner, may I ask? "I mean, she cooks great, and she smells great, and she's just really, really nice. Do you remember that lady we saw at the grocery store yesterday? The really nice one who gave Angel and Gazzy tropical lollipops? I wish my mom were like that. I mean, not Mexican, but my color. But you get the idea. Smells nice, cooks great food, has some fashion sense, doesn't scold you when you rip a wing...only when you drop your socks..."

You see now what I mean? Yeah, that's my mom, Dr. Martinez: kind, caring, smells like her delicious homemade chocolate-chip cookies, gives great hugs, has enough patience to actually _teach_ me how to cook. I mean, I was a complete illiterate in that area. Oh, and yes, she is a _veterinarian_, thank you very much.

I slanted my gaze across the table, where my half-sister Ella--the daughter of Dr. Martinez, my mom--was watching me and my flock eat. Apparently she'd already finished early. That's why she's so skinny, the cute girl. "Iggy," she whispered to the blind guy. Iggy turned in her direction, and she pushed her hand toward him. "Could you feel what color I am?"

Oh, yeah, that's another weird thing about Iggy. Despite the fact that he's _blind_, he can touch things and tell specifically what colors they are. Plus, he can design and detonate bombs (repeat: BOMBS) with the Gasman, the eight-year-old kid in my flock who's a diabolical little pyromaniac, in the very own words of a US Navy lieutenant. (Long story. I hate to explain things twice, so check out book five.) Actually, Iggy does a lot of the most dangerous explosive-y things on the flock's "missions."

My daydreaming--which I hated to ever be caught doing--was rudely interrupted by the scent of one of the Gasman's gifts. Did I mention that? You should pick up the hint from his name. I'm just glad my mom is very discreet about these things.

"Max?"

I glanced up with a distracted, slightly idiotic smile. Fang, beside me, was waving a hand in my eyes. I slapped it away. "What?"

He frowned slightly. "It looks like you're arguing with the Voice again."

"I'm not," I replied. "Just thinking."

"Okaaay," he said slowly. "Maybe you should stop thinking for a second."

I turned my full attention to him. "Why?" I demanded.

"'Cause Angel has something to tell you."

I looked down at six-, no, seven-year-old Angel, the curly blonde sister of the Gasman. (How she figured out when she turned seven, I have no idea. Then why wasn't Gazzy nine?) She had slid out of her chair and was standing at my elbow, staring up at me with those huge blue eyes. I gave her a thin smile. "Yes?"

She tugged at my wrist. "Could we go outside? Then I can tell you."

That's my Angel: smart, alert, and mysterious. You wouldn't think she's only six--I mean, seven. Actually, the whole flock pretty much don't look their ages. Fang, Iggy, and I are fourteen, but I'm 5'8", and the guys are over 6 feet; Angel is over 4 feet. A weird side effect of being mutated bird-kids.

I sighed. "Be back soon, Fang," I mumbled to him from the side of my mouth. I slithered off my chair and followed Angel to the open window, where we dropped toward the ground with our wings spread. One rule which my presence enforced in Mom's life: keep all the windows open when the bird-kids are around, in case trouble comes along and we have to kick butt and escape, _fast_.

Angel tucked in her snow white wings and sat Indian-style on the ground next to me. I followed suit. "All right, sweetie," I said, "what is it?"

"I had a bad dream last night," she said, direct to the point.

I stopped and looked at her very solemnly. Angel breathes underwater, talks to fish, reads minds, and even controls people. So if she says she had a bad dream, she means really bad. She knows what she's talking about. "What was it?" I asked.

"There was this girl with wings," she began, her sweet little-girl voice trembling a little. "She was escaping from the School. I know it was the School. She was in the same clearing that we were in when you rescued me, remember that? She was tied-up and inside a cage, but she got out and got free. Then she flew away."

I gave her a slightly confused look. How could this be a bad dream?

Angel went on, apparently reading my thoughts. "One of the bad whitecoats had a gun, and he shot her. And she went down."

Oh. Now I could see why it was a bad dream. "Did they...get her?" I asked, very slowly.

She shook her head. "I don't know. She landed somewhere in the woods. But my dream ended there."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

**Flash**

There was no way I was going to sleep a wink with Jay just a few feet across from me. No matter what he'd told me, I still couldn't trust him. He could be a mole or something. Or something worse.

Yeah, living in a cage surrounded by madmen teaches you useful philosophy.

So, very, very carefully, I lowered myself to the ground about five feet away from Jay, who was sitting up and watching me across the fire with a slight expression of amusement. Furtively I reached down, grabbed a sharp, good-sized rock, and clutched it tightly as I lay down. I kept an eye open, watching his every move, from beneath my curtain of hair. About five minutes later, he lay down on the other side of the fire, and soon I could hear his soft snores. I grunted to myself in satisfaction and finally dropped off to sleep. But with my hand still curled tightly round the rock.

~*~

"Rise and shine!"

"Waargh...!" I sat up with a jerk and a hostile growl of acknowledgment. Jay was already busily burying the campfire with soil and rocks, as well as zipping up his backpack and stuffing all our garbage into it. He was very cautious, I had to admit.

The truth is, I had already been awake about two hours before. I'd stared at him across the glowing embers, debating in my mind whether to up and leave, or to stick it out. Eventually, it all boiled down to my injured arm and torn wing. There was no way I would get far without stumbling into a bog or fainting from hunger. Travelling by foot--and _alone_--was not a viable option. At least the kid had food with him.

Jay saw me glaring at him warily and gave me a sunny smile. He tossed a pack of Fig Newtons my way. "Grab a bite of breakfast first, and then we'll hit the road."

I glowered at him sullenly but ripped open my breakfast anyway. "What do you mean, 'we'll hit the road'?"

He shrugged, looking a little pleased that at least I was talking to him. "I don't mean a _real_ road, silly," he informed me, sending a twinge of annoyance through me all over again. "What I mean is, we gotta get going. We've already slept long enough."

"Thanks to you," I muttered under my breath. If he hadn't been around to muddle up my resolution, I would have been up and travelling determinedly approximately five hours ago.

"You _did_ need the rest, though," Jay said pointedly. Shoot, he could read me like a book.

I frowned at him.

"We're just about fifty miles away from the Mexican border," he continued cheerily. "If you want to lie low for a bit and avoid the whitecoats, I highly suggest we jump the border. They can't legally pursue you into another country."

"Aren't they pursuing you, too?" I remarked scathingly.

He raised his eyebrows. "Nah, they've probably already forgotten about me. _But_, if they find us together, they'll take me, too." He gave me an irritating wink. "So, up and walk."

I stood up stiffly, stuffing the plastic wrapper into my pocket. As I clumsily tucked in my wings, still aware of the throbbing wound in the left one, I realized they were still sticking out of my back, plain as day. Jay frowned. "That's a problem," he said, making me roll my eyes. How obvious. He rummaged around in his backpack and resurfaced with a large, battered, albeit warm green windbreaker. "This should hide 'em for now," he informed me with a note of triumph.

I took it with a curt nod and struggled to put it on by myself. I winced as I stretched out my left arm and felt the all-too-familiar twinge of pain.

"We'll have to make a sling for that, too," Jay remarked. "I mean, it should be pretty much healed by tomorrow morning, since mutants heal fast. But you just don't want to strain it."

"It'll catch attention if I have a freaking _sling_ on," I pointed out.

"Yeah," he replied with a shrug. "It's unavoidable."

So, with an impatient sigh but a slight feeling of gratitude, I let him bind up my arm with his clean white cloth and tie the ends securely at the back of my neck, making a soft, makeshift sling. Then he swung his backpack over his shoulder and led me straight into the trees.

Despite his lack of a map, compass, GPS, or any other instrument of direction, Jay had his bearings about him. And so did I. Another wacky thing about us bird-kids: we have an inborn sense of direction, just like geese know which way is south is when they migrate in the fall. Yeah, _that_ much of science I know.

"So," said Jay, after we had been walking on about an hour or so in complete silence (thanks to me), "your being 2 percent bloodhound...does that mean you can track quarry?"

"It's not funny," I snarled.

He held up his hands, a habit which he seemed to be quickly developing around me. "Whoa, sorry, didn't mean it that way. Don't get too touchy." He gave me a tentative smile.

I scowled back at him. "If you hadn't seen me and helped me, I would have left you six hours ago," I informed him with a hooded brow.

"Oh," he replied. He blinked. "Well, that's a cheering thought."

He turned around again, and I followed his back with my sharp gaze. His gait was free and easy, like he had no other care in the world. I was hunched over and stiff-legged, just like any other kid would be when suddenly let out of her cage and into the freedom of the wilderness after thirteen years of captivity. All of a sudden, I felt painfully alone. And I knew it didn't have to be that way.

I cleared my throat audibly. "Uh...to answer your question," I began.

Jay whipped around, his face all surprise at my new tone. "Yeah?"

I cleared my throat again and brushed my messy brown waves from my eyes. "Yes. I can track 'quarry', as you call it."

Jay cocked his head and considered this. "Like, actually by the scent?"

I nodded curtly. "I have an overactive sense of smell."

"Wow. Impressive." He raised his eyebrows to prove his point. "Any disadvantages?"

I hesitated. "Er...yeah."

He fell into step with me. "What's that?"

I gave him a solemn look. "If you have a bleeding wound, you don't want me to be around."

"Oh," he said. He paused, apparently trying to digest this. I gave him a pointed look, and he nodded hastily. "Okay. I got it."

"Good," I said. "You better."

"So, uh, speaking of powers," he went on casually, "do you have any other wacky abilities?"

I shrugged. "None that I know of. You?"

He seemed thoroughly surprised that I was actually, truly, genuinely talking to him. "Um..." He shrugged back modestly. "I mimic birds' cries. My specialty is the blue jay, of course."

"Of course," I repeated.

Jay noted my distraction. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I snapped. I took a deep breath to calm myself. It was a little hard for me to keep myself bright and happy, especially under my present circumstances. Well, actually, I was far from okay. But I would have to do with not complaining--I'd definitely suffered worse before. "I forgot," I said. "I can work with my voice too. I can make it come from other places, and I can make it sound like somebody else."

"Ah. Ventriloquism," he clarified with a sage nod.

"Ven-tri-lo..." I stopped.

"Ventriloquism," he repeated. He grinned. "That may definitely come in handy."

Just then, my stomach growled. I glanced up at the sky: the sun was already high and beating down ruthlessly on us. "I think some chow would come in handy," I remarked.

"Right-o. I think I see a main road coming up in, oh, about twenty seconds," he informed me. He gestured me forward and pointed beyond a sparse sprinking of trees, where we could see a small plaza consisting of a barber shop, a locksmith's shop, a convenience store, an ATM, and a small fast-food place.

"As long as we don't have meat, some lunch would be great," I told him.

He looked surprised. "No meat? Why? You a vegetarian or something?"

I grimaced. "Remember, 2 percent bloodho--"

"Oh. Right." He took a deep breath and took my hand--my prosthetic one--in his. "Come on."

~*~

Ten minutes later, I was desperately quelling the noisy complaints of my stomach as Jay studied the menu on the wall. I followed his gaze, then looked forward again to face a rather bored-looking young woman with her visor cap askew. "What's your order today?" she squeaked, examining her hot pink fingernails.

"Two double cheeseburgers, a Pepsi, a vanilla shake, and a large fries for me," Jay told her. He glanced sideways with me and raised his brows inquisitively.

"Two caesar salads, a big sub without the chicken, two chocolate shakes, and medium onion rings," I filled in hastily.

The girl looked up and studied us suspiciously, for the first time looking far from bored. "Is this all for you?"

Just as I was about to snap "Yes," Jay said, "No." I glared at him.

"We've got a family in the van outside," he fibbed, shooting a thumb through the window. The girl, obviously swallowing his lie just like that, returned to her usual bored expression, ran up our order. Jay fished around in his pockets and produced enough money; then I seized the tray and yanked him down the aisle to a neatly out-of-the-way booth shadowed by a pair of large, smelly plants.

"What's the rush?" he demanded, as he slid in the seat opposite me.

"This place is freaking me out," I said curtly. "The smell of meat, the oil, everything. Let's just get our meal over with and go."

"Okaaay," he said, and promptly dug in.

You're probably thinking we're both disgusting little gluttons. Hey! We may be disgusting, but we're definitely not little, and I resent being called a glutton. The fact is, last time anyone paid attention to me back at the School, I was measured to be 5'7". I was guessing Jay was about 6 feet. It's just a weird thing about being mutated bird-kids. And because I'd been starved for approximately the last half of a week, and Jay no doubt had been doing some serious flying lately, we both needed (as I'd overheard at the School) about three thousand calories a day.

But disgusting? I'm not in the mood to dispute that. I'd never really been taught manners by the madmen, and neither had Jay, being out on his own for the last year and half.

In less than twenty minutes, we had cleared out trays, and I was making loud, gross noises as I sucked the last out of my second milkshake, making even Jay wince. After I disposed of our garbage, we both headed for the door.

I gulped in huge breaths of air. "I'm so glad to be out in the open again," I gasped.

Jay nodded. "Yeah. Our..._kind_ is very claustrophobic."

Suddenly I froze. I blinked and swayed a little. I put out a hand to steady myself, which was a little tricky with my left arm in a sling.

Jay looked down into my face, concerned. "Um...hello?" He waved a hand in my eyes. "Are you okay?"

I made a weird little noise in my throat. Jay followed my gaze; my eyes had been locked on a young, old-fashioned mother kneeling beside her curly-haired toddler daughter, who was sobbing and holding up her scraped knee. He turned back to me. "Um, like, seriously," he said. "What's the matter with you?"

I shook my head and swallowed, almost gagging on my own saliva. "Get me out of here," I said hoarsely.

He gripped my arm and began forcibly moving me back across the main road toward the woods. "That's exactly what I'm doing," he informed me.

Just as we were moving away at a safe range from that intoxicating smell, a car zoomed by, and we jumped back to avoid being pancaked. (Another thing about us: fast reflexes, even faster muscles.) As we backed up again by a few feet, I began to tremble uncontrollably.

Jay gripped my shoulders with both hands and shook me soundly. "What is _wrong_ with you?" he yelled.

I choked. "Blood!"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**Max**

"Angel tells me she's been having this strange dream over and over for the last half week," I said.

Fang turned and looked at me through his long black hair. "Must be pretty bad."

"Yeah." I sighed and dropped my head into my hands. "Thing is, I don't know who she's been dreaming about. I thought They killed off all the mutant kids already."

Fang shrugged and looked away again. "You know, some could have escaped."

"Or one," I returned.

"You think it was just you she was dreaming about?" Fang suggested.

I shot him a sharp glance of surprise. "No. Definitely not. That never happened to me before...and besides, it wouldn't happen in the future. This was a different girl. She was younger than me, I think, and she had dark brown hair and green eyes and brown wings."

"Ah." Fang smiled slightly. "Definitely not you, then."

We were promptly interrupted by Ella's unwarranted burst into my room, with Iggy trailing behind. "Max!" she yelled. "Check this out!"

"Could someone please explain what she's yelling about?" Iggy complained. I gave him a sharp look as he stuffed a wad of suspicious-looking wires down his pocket.

"Iggy," I said sternly, "have you been detonating a bomb again?"

He clammed up and stood in the doorway, brushing dust off his pants that he definitely couldn't see.

"Max." Fang's deep, serious voice turned me around again. "Seriously. Look at this."

I took the rumpled, fresh-smelling newspaper from him, careful not to imprint the front of my new white t-shirt with a copy of today's stock reports. He pointed to the headline: "Suspicious Winged Kids Attack Toddler, Escape Without a Trace."

"Hm," I said, as I scanned the article. Definitely not us. The six of us in my flock had been honored--not!--to be in the newspapers before, but lately we'd been lying pretty low.

"Max?" came Iggy's plaintive voice.

"Oh. Sorry." I cleared my throat and read it aloud. "_November 14. Sally Rhodes, 32, and her daughter Krista, 3, were emerging from a convenience store in southern California--their whereabouts are wished unknown--when Krista tripped and scraped her knee on the pavement. Around the same time, two teenagers, a boy and a girl, emerged from the nearby restaurant, and immediately the teenaged girl rushed forward and lunged at the toddler, screaming "Blood!" Panicked, the mother managed to call the police from her cell phone. However, by the time the police came, the teenaged boy had grabbed his friend, and the pair disappeared into the woods across the street. No harm was done to young Krista Rhodes, but Mrs. Rhodes was found in a mild case of shock. The two teenagers remain unidentified, but since they are wanted for assault, Mrs. Rhodes provided sufficient descriptions. The girl, of slight build, was about 5'6" to 5'8" and had long dark brown ringletted hair with green eyes; she was last wearing a green windbreaker and dark jeans and wore a distinctive white sling on her left arm. The boy, also of slight build, was about 6' or over and had dark blond hair and blue eyes. He was last seen by Mrs. Rhodes wearing a denim jacket and light jeans. He was carrying a black and blue backpack. Mrs. Rhodes last saw the two teenagers running toward the woods, when the boy spread a pair of wings and lifted the girl into the air. Shortly after, they disappeared without a trace. No other distinctive features were noted by the victims._"

"That sounds just like the girl in my dream," came Angel's small voice from the doorway.

I turned. "Really? How about the boy?"

She shook her head and moved closer to me, sinking into my lap.

"You mean there are others like you?" Ella asked, brown eyes wide.

"Yeah. Obviously." I ran a hand through my hair, absently unknotting the tangles with my fingers. Funny how being with civilization made me preen myself more.

"Max?" said Iggy again. "What...exactly...are we planning to do about this?"

I sighed. "I don't--" I stopped. No use letting the flock hear me say "I don't know." That would be a shocker, coming from me. They always expected me to know what to do all the time, strangely enough. That's the wacky thing about being the oldest and the leader. "Well," I started reasonably, "they managed to get away safely...but...they sure did make a big ruckus." I bit down hard on my lip.

Fang turned his head sideways to look at me. He knew how wanting to help everyone was my weakness.

_Max._

Oh, great. Just at my moment of indecision, the Voice shows up again. You know that voice you get in your head? No? Well, I do. It's not my conscience. It's a freakishly annoying..._person_ in my head that gives me migraines.

_Max, you shouldn't get sidetracked. Remember your goal._

"As if you ever helped me in achieving it!" I snapped. I realized I was talking out loud and clamped down on my tongue midsentence.

"Max?" Ella sounded confused and concerned, just like our mom. "Why are you talking to yourself?"

"She has a Voice in her head," said Fang. He turned to me and just sat there, giving me a strange look.

_They can survive on their own. They were designed to be strong. All you have to do now is focus on your mission._

I pressed my lips together and moodily fillipped a crumb from my jeans. _Voice? I'm kind of sick of hearing you yak about saving the world_, I shot back.

_Max, Max, Max... When will you learn?_

_How about never?_

After that, the Voice shut down again, and I was left in relative peace.

Well, count out the strange looks around me, and you get the picture.

~*~

"The article said they were in southern California," I said. "And it also says they were flying away. I figure they fly at normal speeds, maybe a hundred miles per hour tops, and that was yesterday, so that means they should be right around the Mexican border as we speak."

"Wait a minute," said Iggy. "I thought the article said he 'lifted the girl into the air.' Are we assuming that she's flying with him right now, as we speak, in your words? Or is he actually carrying her?"

"If he's carrying her, that means they've only made it probably halfway to the border," Fang pointed out with a meaningful glance in my direction. I flushed despite myself--he had carried me before when I'd first gotten those Voice-headache attacks, and in his own words, I had weighed a freaking ton.

I thought about it. "Well, what if he just carried her to safety, and now they're walking?" I suggested.

Angel cocked her little golden head. "That could be. I think that's what they did."

Ella glanced back and forth between us as we spoke. "I have an idea. What if you stay here first and wait a bit? Because if you look here" --she pointed to the map of California and Mexico which she had unearthed from the study-- "it seems that they'll generally be coming in this direction."

I frowned. "Toward our safehouse? I'm not sure. We will have to meet them halfway."

_Max, you know you shouldn't be doing this._

"Shut up," I muttered.

Ella blinked. "What?"

I shook my head. "Never mind." I bent down over the map again.

Fang's fingers touched my shoulder. "It's already late, Max. Way past bedtime. Maybe we really should stay overnight; we need the rest. We can start in the morning."

I looked up at him, then gave in with a weary nod. "Okay." I usually stuck it out and insisted on my plans, but my body was literally tearing me apart. Anyway, a couple of hours of sleep certainly wouldn't hurt, would they?

~*~

As it turned out, it was just impossible to get any sleep with an excited Nudge eating sugary--repeat, _sugary_--marshmallows just before bedtime and keeping me up with chatterings and murmurings about food, fashion, and wings. At long last, when the sun was beginning to filter through the blinds, I gave a loud yawn and dropped off to sleep.

"Max." It was Ella, shaking me awake.

I jerked upright. The sun outside was already climbing in the sky, and Nudge's and Angel's beds were empty and made. Fang, Iggy, and Gazzy were probably already up, too. I had not another second to lose; I sprang up, threw on a random set of clothes--unfortunately, I wasn't looking and only realized later they were Ella's--and bolted out the door.

"Max!" Mom was in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a pan of pancakes fresh from the stove. "Why are you up early?"

I hardly called it early, but no use arguing. If Ella was still in the house and not at school yet, that meant early to Mom. "I have some plans," I told her.

"Oh? Max, I hope you're not leaving again."

I set my jaw. "Mom, I just have to. It's really important."

"But you only just got back a few days ago! And the CSM really needs you." The CSM was the organization she and I had helped put up to prevent pollution and harmful practices, a part of my Voice's plan for me to save the world.

I swallowed. "I'll be back. This'll be very quick, I promise."

"All right..." She turned and looked at the rest of the flock, most of whom had assembled at the dining table. Gazzy was just shuffling in, shrugging on a jacket. "Are they coming with you, too?"

I shook my head. "Like I said, it'll be very quick. Not worth risking the flock for it. Maybe I'll take one."

The others, who had all been listening very intently (and, amazingly, with no comment from Nudge, I might add), all looked up, striving but utterly failing to not look hopeful.

I pursed my lips and tapped my chin with a finger in a guise of a pensive state. "Okay. Fang can come."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

**Flash**

"I'm telling you, I'm fine," I snapped as I stalked ahead, blundering through the wild underbrush. I stumbled and lost my balance.

Jay came up behind me and, with an exaggerated sigh, gallantly hauled me back up. "You are _not_ fine."

Truth be told, my arm was hurting like heck again. My wings had also been cramped all tucked under the windbreaker, so their soreness didn't help, either.

"I think your wounds may be infected," said Jay, shooting a pointed look at the arm in my sling. "We haven't changed the bandage for a couple of days. Or rather, you refused to _let me_ change the bandage for a couple of days."

"Because I'm perfectly _fine_," I shot back. I stomped forward again, but quickly jerked back when Jay shot out a hand and grabbed my right arm. I turned around.

"Listen," he said through his teeth, no doubt hanging onto his patience by a thread. "You don't know where you're going, the whitecoats are after you, the _police_ are after you, I'm trying to bang sense into your head, you're about to bleed to death _without my help_, you freak out at the mere _smell_ of blood, and I don't even know your name. Am I missing anything?"

I flexed the metal fingers of my right hand. I was clawing at the last shreds of my dignity as well.

"What's wrong, cat got your tongue?" Jay demanded. Boy, was he getting mad. "Or are you giving me silent treatment? May I remind you, if I hadn't been there, you would have torn that poor little kid to pieces!"

That did it. I clenched my fist into a steel ball and burst into tears. Jay looked completely taken aback. Of course, after all my show of tough snarling, growling, and stomping around, crying would be the reaction one would least expect from me. Believe me, even I was appalled.

Jay started to pat my shoulder. "It's okay," he whispered soothingly. "I'm sorry. I just...lost my patience. I'm really sorry."

It took me a minute before I finally calmed down, and my heart was not banging against my rib cage nearly as much as it had been before. I swallowed the sob rising in my throat, making a funny little choking noise. "I'm sorry," I said hoarsely.

He sighed and thumped me reassuringly on the back. "Come on, let's go. We can talk as we walk."

I nodded and stumbled forward again, trying to wipe away the tears from my grimy face. Well, as I now knew, that was pretty much impossible with metal fingers.

"Here." Jay pulled up the sleeve of his jacket and mopped my face dry. I hiccupped and nodded at him in thanks.

"It's my instincts," I began, very low. "It's not like I actually want to be this way."

He nodded. "Yeah. I know."

"The crazy whitecoats," I went on. "They wanted to design a tracker who could fly. Like a flying Eraser, one of those Flyboys. But the thing is, I'm still _human_. I didn't always work the way they wanted me to. So they decided I was just as disposable as their other mutant failures."

"Oh." He cleared his throat and gestured vaguely about, then stuck his hands back in his pockets. "Well, if you don't mind my asking--what exactly happens? I mean, if no one stops you?"

I swallowed. "They usually starved me first. Then they'd let me out of my cage into a clearing with a deer, or a rabbit, or some kind of animal with a bleeding wound. I'd go crazy at the smell of blood and...tear the animal to pieces." I held up my hand. "I didn't tell you, but they found there's another great use for my prosthetic hand." My thumb twitched, and out shot a small, wickedly sharp blade in the center of my wired palm.

Jay jumped back. "Whoa."

I collapsed the blade again and looked down at my shoes with a morose nod. "Like I said, sometimes I didn't work the way they necessarily expected me to. Once, I turned around and attacked them instead."

Jay blinked. "And then?"

"That time...I stabbed one."

He winced and fell silent.

After a little while, I cleared my throat. "They actually did give me a name."

"Yeah?"

"I'm called Flash."

~*~

"This place smells good," I mumbled.

"Yeah?" Jay glanced at me cautiously as he chucked a few first aid kit and hygiene items into the cart, as well as other miscellaneous groceries.

"It just smells _fresh_," I clarified.

"That's 'cause it's a supermarket," he replied. "Gotta keep the place tidy for the customers."

"Oh!" I pointed to a box of flashy energy bars on the shelf just ahead of us. "Could I get one?"

He grinned. "Yeah. Don't see why not."

I scooped up two and placed them carefully in the cart. For the first time, I was beginning to wear a little smile on my face.

"Now, I just need to grab some antispectic and some other medical stuff," Jay was saying. He wheeled the cart over in the direction of the Pharmacy department, and obediently I followed behind.

Then I stopped.

Jay turned. "Er...Flash?" he asked, still getting used to my name. "What's the matter this time?"

I plastered on a fake smile and shook my head. "Don't worry, this place is absolutely sterile of blood," I informed him, to the immense relief on his face. "But it's crawling with whitecoats."

He looked where I pointed. A couple of lab people in rumpled white coats were shuffling around behind the counter of the Pharmacy, checking stock inventory on clipboards and filling orders at the drive-thru. But he knew what I meant.

"Right," he said quickly. "I know what you mean."

I tugged at his sleeve. "I'm trying not to hyperventilate," I hissed at him through my teeth.

"Okay, I got it," he shot back. "Just gimme a couple of seconds and we'll be gone."

"I need to get out _now_," I whispered, just as a whitecoat turned in my direction. Oh, no. Was he someone I knew? It was a crazy idea, but at the moment, I was kind of crazy, too. Without a second thought, I bolted.

"Wha--?! Flash!" Jay was after me, wheeling the cart at top speed down the aisle. As I pounded through the maze of cereals and shampoos, I heard the cart come hurtling and clanging past an old lady, who shrieked and dropped her cane and shouted a most unbecoming invective.

"Flash! Come back here!"

I ignored Jay's frantic voice and broke for the door. Too late, I realized it was the entrance. I didn't care and smashed through it anyway. Pretty soon, the alarms were wailing overhead.

Jay came up from behind and tackled me to the ground, sending me skidding across the sidewalk and knocking the breath out of me. "What _exactly_ do you think you're _doing_?!" he yelled in my ear.

I thrashed and kicked and managed to roll him off me. Already, we could both hear the security coming.

"Forget it. I'll save the sermon for later," he snapped. "We have to get out of here fast."

I was already up and running, but I heard him snap open his wings, swoop down, and swing me into the air.

Jay whistled. "Once we land, you're really going to get it this time."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"All subjects were successfully exterminated," the whitecoat reported, ticking off a sheet on his clipboard. "Except for one. Subject fe6673k escaped termination grounds last night."

The head whitecoat barely spared the underling a glance. She continued to scroll through her screen, busily punching in numbers in her keyboard. "That is expected," she said, her tone irrepressibly bored. "Also expected that you were complete fools."

The man looked completely taken aback. "Dr. Conroy, the subject was being extremely difficult. But we managed to shoot it down from the sky."

"At least someone had the sense to have a gun with him," the woman snapped, this time shooting him a pointed glance before returning her sharp gaze back to her computer screen. "And," she continued, "somebody had the bird brains to shoot the subject out of the _sky_, when somebody could have witness the operation."

"Y-yes, doctor," said the man, lowering his clipboard.

The woman sighed. "You young scientists are an absolute pain in the neck. Why did you even bother to torture your professors in medical school? Your skulls are impossibly thick."

"Y-yes, doctor," the underling stammered again.

"Well, don't just stand there with your mouth agape," she spat. "Go, do what you have to do."

The man made as if to move away, then stopped again. "Dr. Conroy? Er...what are we to do with subject" --he checked his clipboard again-- "fe6673k?"

"Well, we don't know if the subject was killed or not, do we?" she shot back scathingly, and muttered under her breath about idiotic imbeciles. "But never mind. She will come back. I am sure of it."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

**Flash**

"You know what?" said Jay. "You're an absolute pain in the neck."

"Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you," I shot back. I pressed my lips together again and focused on flapping up and down, up and down. The wound in my wing was far from healed, but I wasn't about to tell just anyone that. Especially not Jay.

Jay flapped a hand in my direction. "Forget it."

"So much for your 'sermon'," I muttered under my breath, then continued in a louder voice, "Well, wouldn't you do the same under those circumstances?"

He paused, then shrugged. "Yes," he admitted. He saw my triumphant look. "But _not_ by breaking through doors and setting the security guards on us!" he clarified, shooting a glare--or rather, an attempt at a glare--at me. It was positively amusing when he tried to look angry, because his sunny features just wouldn't allow it.

I rolled my eyes.

"I bet you my life you've put us in the newspapers _again_," he went on. He sighed and veered off to the side before swerving back toward me. Despite myself, I sneaked a few glances at him. Why couldn't I be as graceful as he was?

Jay must have caught my envious looks and read my thoughts once more. "You know, you fly funny," he began.

"Oh, please!" I yelled. "Is that the way to begin a flying lesson?"

He cleared his throat. "As a matter of fact, it is. Jay-style."

I jerked my head at my sling. "For one thing, I get imbalanced with this--this _thing_ around my neck."

He moved closer and silently unknotted the sling. I flexed my arm tentatively: it was still sore, but feeling much better than when I'd first gotten shot. The bullet had passed right through, so of course there were no worries about foreign elements getting lodged inside me.

"That's much better," I said, surprised.

He nodded sagaciously. "Another thing you have to fix--you keep angling your wings upward and then pressing your body down, which just counters the effect. If you want to go up, go up. Follow your wings. But if you want to go straight, just level them and angle them straight. With the way you're flying right now, you're using almost twice as much energy as necessary."

"Oh." I felt my cheeks flush. It was true--and I'd certainly been flying like an imbecile these past few hours. "You know, they never taught me how to fly...back at the School."

He nodded again. "I know."

"Well, just those times when they were 'training' me to attack targets and stuff," I resumed. "But I sort of had to figure it out on my own."

He shrugged. "I learned to fly on my own, too. I was never really special at the School, so they just left me alone, and I never had time out in the open. I just taught myself this past year."

I bit my lip. Then I tried to apply what he had told me: I angled my wings lower and made my body straighter, and immediately I felt how much easier it was to follow the wind. Laughing a little, I spread my wings to their fullest and coasted on the current.

"Your wings are...pretty," said Jay.

I shot him a suspicious glance. "Yeah?" I said slowly. "But I thought I fly funny."

"Well, besides that," he clarified. "They look like chocolate and vanilla. Like those nice milkshakes we had back at the restaurant, but stronger."

"Yeah, like _coffee_," I retorted. "And creamer."

He shrugged. "I guess."

I opened my mouth to toss back to him a snide retort about his blue jay wings, when we were both interrupted by the loud chopping of a helicopter not far above us.

I started mentally freaking out. "They're looking for me."

Jay frowned. "I beg to disagree. It could be a police helicopter. No, actually, it must be border patrol, 'cause we're nearing the border. But, in any case, we don't want to be seen."

"Do we go up or down?" I asked, raising my voice over the growing din.

"Up!" he shouted back. "There are no trees below us. We have to hide in the clouds!"

He grabbed my wrist and yanked me up after him. He was angling his wings till he was almost vertical, and carefully I did the same. I felt the gratifying whistle of the air is it rushed past our ears and streaked through my hair, piercing my skin. I pressed my other arm against my side and shot up closer to him.

I was suddenly aware of something whirring next to me, and Jay's voice sounding distant a long way off from me. Then I was spinning and free-falling, my hands clamped over my ears and my teeth grinding each other, and my wings were folding together. All I felt was a flash of pain. Then I was plummeting down, down, down, with no one to catch me.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

**Max**

"You're completely sure about this?" Fang's voice was quiet and calm, as he usually was, as he watched me shrug on a denim jacket (with the necessary slits in the back) and shove my feet into my old boots.

"Yes, I'm completely sure about this," I shot back. "From the way you're asking me, I'm guessing you're not."

"No, I am," he replied.

"Well, my Voice isn't so sure about this," I admitted, straightening and running a hand through my tangled hair, as I habitually did nowadays. "Come to think of it, my Voice usually never agrees with what I do. Like taking out the chip." Some time ago, I'd discovered a microchip implanted in my left arm and had my mom surgically remove it. Suffice it to say, I lost the use of my left hand but soon regained it, with no other side effects. Unless you count ugly scars.

"Max? Could I come?"

I turned quickly at the sound of Angel's pleading little voice. Uh-oh, not again. I moved closer to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Angel, you have to stay," I began as reasonably as I could. "This is just a quick trip; we should be back before tonight, actually." I was exaggerating, and no doubt with her mind-reading abilities she knew I was exaggerating, but I didn't want anyone to worry. "Fang and I can fly the fastest in the flock. You will be safer here."

"But I don't want to have to always be safe," she said obstinately. "I want to come. I could help."

_Yeah, like, how?_ I wondered to myself. I quickly shut down my thoughts again before she sensed my negative reaction. "You could just help Gazzy practice using his gills," I suggested hopefully. "There's a pool behind the safehouse." (Yeah, you heard me right. The flock have developed _gills_. And that means we can breathe underwater. No kidding.)

Angel sighed and looked down at her toes, her lips puckering in the unhappy expression. I sincerely hoped she didn't try the Bambi-eyes trick on me and Fang. "Fang, you tell her," I said.

"Just stay home," Fang told her. That's my Fang: few words, a ton of meaning.

Angel slowly nodded and slid out of the room again, her swan-like wings drooping and her shoulders sagging. Watching her, I almost felt bad about what I'd done, when suddenly Gazzy bounded out of his room and shouted to her to come swimming. Then her golden curls bounced around her in a halo. I presume she forgot all about our "mission."

I turned back to Fang, who jerked his head toward the window. "After you."

I nodded, climbed onto the windowsill, spread my wings, and dropped into the warm air. I heard Fang swooshing by soon after.

"You know where we're going?" he asked.

I nodded. "We waited overnight, so if they've been traveling steadily, they should definitely be at the border or past it already." Our safehouse was situated in Mexico, which meant we would have to do some serious flying if we meant to get back as soon as possible. Fortunately, due to some zippy mutations, Fang and I could fly at supersonic speeds--say, two hundred miles per hour or more, compared to the usual eighty.

I loved the feel of the wind zipping past me as I shot through the air like an arrow. It was good that we found a favorable current that helped us speed even more along our course. It afforded us a few rests during which we could just spread our wings and coast to reserve our energy instead of spending it all on flapping stupidly against a bad wind.

As we flew, our wings almost touched. Even after fourteen years, I was still kind of amazed at our extra limbs. Mine looked like a hawk's, a light chestnut brown streaked with brown and speckled with flecks of white, with ivory undersides. Fang's were pure black, like an eagle's, and glinted almost purple in the strong slanting sunlight.

"You know," Fang began, "when I saw you in the kitchen with your mom...I got all tensed up inside. You know."

I slanted my gaze toward him, surprised. It was kind of rare for him to just talk. He was more of the clammer; I was more of the yakker. "What, you thought I was another clone?" I teased. "Max 3.0?"

He nodded. Just a few months before, I had actually been _switched_ with a clone of myself while I was dumped by mad scientists into a gooey isolation tank. Fang was the only one who had recognized the girl for the fraud she actually was when she actually offered to _cook_ eggs for breakfast and fix Nudge's hair. She needed to brush up a bit on her acting skills.

"Well," I grumbled, "I guess cooking will come in handy if I'm supposed to be a mother to the flock."

"Iggy does the cooking," Fang pointed out.

I looked at him. "Yeah. But he's _blind_."

At that, we both burst out laughing and kept right on laughing until we were practically crying and rolling around in the sky.

~*~

"We've traveled probably a hundred-something miles by now," I called back over the wind. "I don't know why we still can't see them."

"What exactly are we expecting?" Fang replied. "We don't know if they're actually flying or down on the ground."

I shrugged and continued to flap, hovering over the border. Occasionally we had to zoom back and forth, just in case a border patrol was on alert and watching the sky. "I thought they would be flying."

"What if they got past the border already?" Fang pointed out. "And we missed them?"

My heart sank past my toes into the ocean. "That's...possible. Very possible." I hated admitting I ws wrong, but in this case, I could be very, very wrong. I especially hated to think what might happen to the two mutants--especially the girl--if they were caught, whethere by whitecoats or policemen. No doubt they were inexperienced at those kinds of situations.

"You think we should go back?" I asked slowly. I _really_ hated having to give up.

_Max, you're already deep into this. Why are you going back now?_

_Why, thank you, Voice,_ I thought sarcastically. _For once you're trying to help._

Fang shook his head. "We should keep looking for another hour. Then we can go back."

Just then, I heard a chopper whirring overhead. I wheeled around, grabbed Fang, and pinwheeled out of sight into a thick, smoggy cloud. Curse pollution.

"Do you think that means trouble?" I shouted back.

"No," said Fang. He was still as cool, calm, and collected as ever. "That's just the border air patrol."

"Oh," I said, feeling somewhat...stupid.

After a couple more seconds, the chopping of the helicopter's blades died down and moved off into another direction, sparing me a huge sigh of relief. Wacky fact: because we bird-kids have air sacs in addition to our lungs, we can actually hold our breaths pretty long if we want to. But not forever, of course.

Fang and I both opened our mouths to say something, when we were quite interrupted by a loud, ripping scream.

I sprang alert. Fang followed suit, and we tucked our wings in and hunched our shoulders and dive-bombed, Gazzy-style. We shot down at two hundred miles per hour, following that flash of dark something we had seen hurtling through the sky. My heart was thumping loudly in my ears, and it was kind of hard to focus.

Another figure, a little larger shot down from the opposite direction after the free-falling dot. The second figure soon disappeared from view, and our vision was cut off by a very helpful (note irony here) cloud that blew our way. When we could finally see again, the figure was climbing up through the sky again with something cradled in his arms. I glanced at Fang and flapped over.

It was a boy, maybe our age or a little younger, looking very frightened and determined at the same time. He had light hair that caught the sun.

"I'm guessing, that's not Gazzy and Nudge," Fang said wryly.

I nodded. "Right. Gazzy doesn't have blue wings. And Nudge is black."

The boy cautiously approached us, still carrying the other person--who turned out to be a girl--in his arms. He stared at us for a second with paranoid blue eyes. "Who are you?"

"People like you," I shot back. I lunged for the girl just as he almost let go of her from her sheer weight. We're very light, and we're generally stronger than the average grown-up wrestler, but carrying our own kind is no piece of cake.

Fang came up next to me and held up the girl by her other arm. I felt sticky blood oozing out from somewhere on her, and she was completely limp and barely moving, much less breathing. Even with the two of us carrying her, we were weighed down a ton. I wondered how on earth we were going to carry her back to the safehouse.

"We'll manage," said Fang quietly, guessing my thoughts. Even without Angel's mind-reading abilities, he could read me through all the time.

The girl's eyes fluttered, and she spat out a red glob weakly. "Jay?" she mumbled.

I shot a pointed look at the boy. "Who's Jay?"

"That would be me," he admitted a little reluctantly.

"You okay?" I said gruffly. "We got to get further south back into Mexico. The last thing we need is another deadweight."

He nodded quickly. "I'm fine." He jerked his head toward the girl. "She's not. But...she's tough."

"What happened?" asked Fang, most sensibly.

Jay shrugged. "I dunno. The chopper came up, and I guess she got hit by a blade or something." His brow wrinkled in concern. "Is she hurt bad?"

I shook my head. "Not too bad. We should get out of here now."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

**Max**

"Max!" Nudge squealed, rushing out of the house with arms outstretched.

I sighed and gave her a tired smile. I nodded toward the brightly lit house, where nearly all the windows were alight. "It's past midnight," I noted. "Why're all the lights on? Ever heard of utility bills?"

Nudge grinned. "Your mom let us stay up and watch the sky for you."

I smiled back, rolling my eyes. Then I motioned with my head to Fang to hurry up and come inside.

Nudge's big brown eyes widened. "You found them!"

The girl we'd picked up from the sky--literally--was moaning in her stupor. Jay hurried around and helped us half-drag, half-carry her up the steep stairs and into my bedroom. (Actually, the bedroom I shared with Nudge and Angel.) I motioned to them to set her on my own bed, quelling all questions with a glance.

Nudge looked a little...green. "Is she okay?"

I nodded quickly. "Nothing to worry about, just a scrape or two. Could you go get Dr. Martinez?"

She nodded and zoomed out of the room, all hyper, calling for my mom.

The girl was beginning to stir. Sensing that she was being watched, her eyes flew open. They were a shocking emerald green. Not that I'd ever seen an emerald or something--maybe there was one on the crown we saw on display in Great Britain--but you get the idea. She jacknifed upright and glared at Fang and me warily.

"It's okay," said Jay. "They're...friends. I guess." He shrugged and cast me an apologetic glance, which I answered with raised eyebrows and crossed arms.

The girl continued to give us dagger looks. She probably would've sprung up and leaped out the window a few seconds ago, if only (1) she weren't bleeding and exhausted, and (2) I hadn't conscientiously locked the window of my room.

I sighed and examined her carefully. I tugged down the sleeve of her left arm and immediately saw the angry, raw skin all torn and wet. "Well, here's our problem," I said, trying to sound light-hearted. I traveled down her arm and saw the pinkish patch of skin over one part. "What's this?"

"She got a bullet wound a few days ago," Jay answered for me.

I shrugged and nodded. Come to think of it, Angel had said that the girl in her dream--who was now actually sitting before me in flesh and blood, watching my every move--had been shot down while flying away from the School.

Just at that moment, my loss at what exactly to do was saved by Mom's arrival with her first-aid kit. I stood aside and watched as she carefully cleaned the wound, applied some antiseptic, and bound it tightly with gauze and surgical tape. The girl, all the while, was darting her sharp green eyes about, studying every single one of us: openmouthed Nudge in the doorway; me, looking confused and rather messy against the wall; Fang, all calm and mysterious and gviing everyone a closed, empty expression; and my mom, all full of smiles and gentleness and caring. The only person in the room whom she spared the piercing gaze was the boy Jay.

Jay was probably thirteen, I decided with a judicious nod to myself. He matched the description in the newspaper: 6 feet tall, sandy hair, sky blue eyes, and torn, dirty denim clothes. His wings, only half-folded to vent the heat and sweat, were an amazing blue jay pattern. I guessed with a shrug this was why he called himself Jay.

The girl was probably also thirteen or younger. (It is rather hard to tell our ages, especially with our height and all.) Her dark chocolate brown hair falling down her back in big, messy ringlets was matted and greasy and rigged with twigs and leaves. Almost every part of her shirt was shredded and hanging by a mere thread. I wasn't sure whether her skin was really tan or her face was just grimy, but when I saw her tan arm, I decided she just really was darker than most people, just like Fang. My gaze shifted to her wings, which were still sticking straight out from her back; it seemed she hardly knew how to handle them. They were a stunning chocolate brown and vanilla, just about as pretty as mine, I had to admit. But I noticed immediately that her left wing was askew, and she seemed to hold it awkwardly like it was hurt. I reasoned that it was the same bullet wound as the one on her arm.

As Mom moved away, the girl gave her a queer little nod, like she wanted to thank her or something but wasn't sure what to make of us all. Maybe if Mom had been wearing a white medical coat like she always did in the vet's office, she would have completely freaked out.

I came closer and patted the girl as reassuringly as I could on the shoulder. She jumped at my touch. "It's okay," I said soothingly. "You can lie down and rest. We'll get you something to eat in a little while." Yup, that's me, super Max. Fighter, wrestler, butt-kicker, racer, and caring mother.

The girl looked at me suspiciously. She must have been awfully tired, though, because soon she was lying on her side with both eyes closed--not just one--and I was left staring at Fang, Nudge, and Jay.

"You should get something to eat," I told Jay.

He glanced reluctantly at the girl. He probably wanted to stay up with her, but his growling stomach told me a different story. He nodded and left the room with the three of us.

"So," I said, after I had shut the door softly behind me and sent Fang and Nudge ahead to the kitchen to find something, "where are you from? The School, too?"

Jay shook his head. "No. Well, yeah, I guess. I broke out a year ago, and I've been camping around town since then. You know, in the forest or something. Never really had a place to stay."

I felt sorry for him. Four years ago, when the flock and I had just escaped from the School ourselves, we'd had no place to stay; fortunately, my friend-scientist-turned-traitor-turned-dad-turned-suspicious-friend-again Jeb Batchelder had helped us and built us a place in the wilderness of the Midwest.

"What's her story?" I motioned my head toward the room behind us where the girl was sleeping.

Jay shrugged. "I only know a little. She doesn't talk much."

I smiled slightly. "I noticed that."

"She calls herself Flash," he said. "She broke out of the School and got shot down, but I found her and fixed her up. We went south through California for a while to throw off her scent, and then we ran into trouble a bunch of times..." He paused. "And now we're here," he finished.

"I know," I said. "We read about you in the newspapers. That's why we came looking for you."

He blinked. "You did?" Then his eyes widened. "How many of you are there? I mean, like, bird-kids?"

"There's me, the boy with me called Fang, and Nudge, Gazzy, Angel, and Iggy," I counted. "That makes six more of our kind. But no others."

Jay nodded. "Flash told me They were trying to exterminate all the mutants."

I snorted humorlessly. "Yeah. I know."

Jay suddenly blinked. "Oh! Is that Mexican food I smell?"

I grinned back at him. "You bet."

~*~

Late the next morning, the girl who called herself Flash emerged from my room, still silent and wary as ever. I had showed her to the bathroom where she could take a shower and dress up in a spare change of clothes from my closet (which, essentially, came from Mom when she took me out shopping one time). Now that she was clean, her skin tone was more even (and definitely tan), and her dark hair was bouncier and even glowed a little in the morning light. I found myself staring at her ringlets when she wasn't looking (which wasn't often).

Around noon, Mom's voice came up to us calling "Time for lunch!" and we came bustling into the kitchen, all six--no, _eight_ of us. It was a Saturday, so Ella was home, making nine, and since Mom would of course be eating with us, that crowded ten of us around a small rectangular table. Laughing, Ella helped Mom and me attach an extra leaf to the end of the table and get out the bigger tablecloth and two more chairs for our guests.

I moaned in pathetic delight when I saw the stack of empanadas and salad that Mom had laid out for lunch. We dug in as _slowly_ as we could to cover up our ravenous appetites, but that didn't help much, and soon I was already on my round of seconds. Even Jay seemed to thoroughly enjoy the change; I guessed he had been eating bugs and fast food out in the wilderness.

My gaze slid over to Flash. I almost jumped in surprise. She was hardly touching her food, except for her salad, which she had a refill of, but her empanada sat absolutely still and cold on her plate. I was seated between her and Fang, so I could hear how her stomach was growling, and I could see how her face seemed strained. Was she vegan or something? I certainly hoped not. That would pose a problem, since I was absolutely no good at picking vegetables, much less putting them together.

I noticed that she was using her right hand to eat her salad, and she wasn't using her fork. I noted for the first time that she actually had a prosthetic hand, the kind with metal fingers hooked up somewhere to her arm. But she had some sort of blade sticking out of her palm, and she was using it to spear her salad kind of trenchantly with quick, angry movements. I blinked and looked again, but my eyes weren't fooling me. Not that I had expected them to, anyway, because as bird-kids, we have almost perfect raptor vision.

"Um...Flash?" I ventured.

The girl jumped at hearing her name. She turned cautiously in my direction with raised eyebrows.

I pointed vaguely at her empanada. "Do you want to eat something else?"

She started to shake her head, but then she stopped and suddenly set down her bowl hard. She jumped out of the chair, knocking it over, and pounded out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

I looked at Fang with my brows raised in puzzlement. "What's up with her?"

He shrugged, leaving me to decide. I looked at Jay, whose happy expression abruptly shut down when he read the question in my face. He bent studiously over his food and kept on eating.

I sighed.

**A/N: So, what do you think? Please review! I absolutely ADORE reviews! (If you have any ideas, feel free to blurt them out, too!)**

**~Katrina Mae**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I'm very sorry I abandoned my fans. Death of a best friend kept me away.**

**I didn't get around to the promised next ten chapters, but here are three of them. The other ones are already in the works. In the meantime, please just read and enjoy.**

Chapter 11

Fang was absorbed in his thoughts and slightly in his food. He was not ordinarily one to appreciate food, much less notice it, but he had to admit that Max's mom cooked well. Superbly.

He wondered what in the world was wrong with the girl. She wasn't mute, since obviously she did talk to the boy in private. But she seemed...mad. As in, I-hate-the-world-and-that-includes-you-and-you-can't-change-that kind of mad.

Fang shrugged to himself and pushed his plate away, leaning forward with his head resting on one hand as he glanced sideways at Max. Her sunny brownish-blonde hair was falling in her eyes and wisps of it were creeping into her mouth, making her spit out the ends petulantly while she ate. Unconsciously he reached out his other hand and tucked the feathery bit of hair behind her ear.

She froze for a moment, but she didn't turn around. He thought he saw her eyes flick in his direction, but he wasn't sure--and he was happy that way. She went on eating and glancing about at the other kids as if nothing had happened.

Truthfully, he loved it. Absolutely loved it. It was so beautiful, so natural, like they were meant for each other.

Suddenly he noticed that the brown-haired girl had abruptly risen and pounded off up the stairs. He whipped his head around at Max, who met his astonishment with openmouthed surprise. "What's wrong with her?" she demanded.

Fang's mind was blank. This rarely happened, but at the moment he just didn't care. He simply shrugged.

Max looked frustrated. Her eyebrows scrunched up against each other in that minutely endearing way of hers as she bit her lip. He studied her expression closer and watched in concern and curiosity as her face traveled from first confused, then angry, then worried, then determined. It was amazing how quickly she could control or manipulate her emotions, and not even show it to anyone else besides an observant person like him. Only he could read her mind almost as perfectly as Angel did.

"I'm going to talk to her," Max whispered.

He started internally. She was already springing to her feet, clearing the chair gracefully behind her and sprinting toward the staircase. Fang sighed and returned to his former state of boredom. Truthfully, he thought there was nothing really wrong with the girl--she was just quiet, like him. Well, scratch that, a grossly exaggerated version of him. And an angry version of him. And a surly one. Okay, well, maybe she wasn't _that_ similar to him. But still. Maybe she would open up sometime, in time. _Why_ she only talked to the blond boy, was the question.

Or not.

Right now, the most important question was...

"Fang?" Nudge's white teeth flashed gleefully as she poked her frizzy head into his peripheral vision. "Dr. Martinez is making more empanadas. Want some?"


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

**Flash**

It was such a huge relief to get away from that awful, overpowering scent of blood and meat wafting around the kitchen, choking and gagging me. I knew I was probably rude, but I was never one to be finicky about manners. Besides, holding my breath too long would kill me.

"Flash?" Someone knocked pretty loudly--or rather banged--on the door. "Flash. Can I come in?"

I considered for a full minute, almost enjoying that one moment of terrible silence, as I sat cross-legged on the messed-up sheets of the bed where they'd put me. Then I sighed and padded over to the door. I flung it open, one hand on my hip. "What?" I snapped.

It was Max, the oldest girl with sandy blonde hair. I was almost taken aback by her expression: fierce, angry, surprised, worried, concerned, and sad, _all_ at the same time. Like that was even artistically possible, much less humanly.

"Why did you run away?" she said, cutting straight to the point. This was a no-nonsense girl, just like me.

I bristled. "Like it's any of your business."

She seemed so shocked. I realized that it was because this was the first time she'd heard my voice. Okay, so maybe I wasn't fair by giving everyone silent treatment and death glares, but hey, cut me some slack. After narrowly escaping _extermination_, getting shot down, going through the humiliation of nearly devouring a human _toddler_, making Jay worried and angry by my madman's behavior, and having to be saved yet _again_ from a chopper about to chop me to shreds, I just thought I almost had the right to have some private time to myself. (Well, yeah, yeah, I know, not really _private_ with nine other people around me, but you know what I mean.)

The girl Max took a large step inside the room. "Can I come in?" she repeated with a pointed cock of her brow at me.

Like she was still outside, anyway.

I motioned brusquely with my head and practically slammed the door behind her. I moved toward the bed and sprawled back down, fixing my eyes on the ceiling and completely ignoring her as she carefully sat down at the foot of the bed. She crossed her legs and turned her dark golden head toward me, quite expectantly.

"What?" I said again, flicking her one emerald glance before returning my focus to the specks on the whitewashed ceiling. Not that they were interesting, but at least, I hoped, she'd get the message and go away.

Obviously she didn't. Or she was just darn stubborn.

Her voice was suddenly softer, like a mom's. Like, a _real_ mom's. "I know you've probably been--you've been going through a lot," she began.

I sighed rather audibly and rolled my eyes over at her, shooting her a totally-a-gross-understatement look. I spared her the cruelty of ignoring her and kept my sharp gaze on her instead. She seemed to be slightly pleased by that.

"And so have we," she went on. "I just kind of wanted to know your story. Jay didn't say much. I guess he was trying to protect your privacy or something."

I squinted briefly. I never realized how much Jay did for me.

Max shrugged uneasily. "You can trust us. We're all keeping each other's secrets. And besides, there's nothing to be ashamed of."

Yeah, right. I rolled my eyes again, but of course returned my gaze to her once more. Like, how can almost killing somebody not be shameful?

Max was leaning steadily closer, her golden brown eyes boring into mine. "It's all right," she whispered. I shuddered inside, almost certain she had read the answer on my face.

Abruptly I sat up, narrowly missing crashing into her face by swinging away to the side. I snapped out my dark brown wings irritably to stretch my sore muscles and settled myself across from her also cross-legged, with my wings out and curled around my arms to warm me. I teasingly brushed the ends of my primaries across my skin to liven the bloodflow.

Max's gaze was distracted. Maybe she didn't see my wings often. Well, as I said before, and I hate to repeat myself, I guess they were pretty stunning. Even though they were a _very_ unwanted excrescent.

I sighed heavily. "Where do you want me to start?"

She shrugged.

I sighed again, more in irritation. "I'm not a good storyteller. Just ask me questions, and I'll answer them, 'kay? At least, the ones I can answer."

"Or want to answer," she completed for me with a nod. "Yeah, okay." She contemplated. "Okay, we first heard about you guys when we read in the newspaper about your escape from some sort of plaza in California. What was all that about?"

I noticed right away that she'd made no comment whatsoever about my practically _stalking_ a kid. I hesitated. "What do you mean?" I finally decided was the safest answer.

She shrugged. "You know what I mean."

I bit my lip so hard that my teeth were sinking into the blood. I hissed and sucked it in before it could stain my shirt.

Max spoke up again. "Does this have to do with something like you walking out on dinner or something?" she said out of pure, blunt intuition.

I narrowed my eyes and grunted. "Yeah."

"How?"

I shrugged back and tapped my lip with my finger. "It's a long story. And it _is_ shameful," I added pointedly. I lowered my head, letting my dark curtain of tangled ringlets hide my eyes. My voice suddenly broke. "It's who I am."

Bummer. I was being maudlin.

Max took my hand away from my face and absently stroked the inside of my palm with a finger. "It's okay," she said gently, and pulled herself a few inches closer, as if ready to hug me if the need arose (though I was presently averse to the notion of revealing any weakness in me). Suddenly she stopped.

I flicked my eyes her way. She was staring down at my hands. "Wow," she breathed. "You have black nails. _Really_ black nails. Where'd you get them? I've never seen anything done so well. Nudge would be so jealous."

For the first time, I gave her a small smile--a thin, bitter smile. "They're not from the salon," I said softly.

She shifted her gaze to me, confused.

"They're mine," I said simply.

She raised a brow. "Now that's weird." She grinned.

Abruptly I jerked my hand away from hers. "I'm part bloodhound," I snapped at her. Immediately I regretted my tone, so I quickly shut up and pressed my mouth closed so tightly that my teeth began to hurt.

"What?" She drew back. But, to my utter surprise, she wasn't angry at me or even the slightest bit scared. Instead, she was pounding her fist into the palm of her other hand. "Those _sick_ scientists..."

I was taken aback. "You're not--you're not, um, _scared_?"

She glanced at me. "Huh? Oh, no, I'm not." She paused. "Oh, I see. Like, what are the...disadvantages?"

I rolled my eyes, but this time I was actually beginning to laugh. "Disadvantages? Only one."

"Thank goodness."

"Not so fast."

"Why?"

I frowned and scratched my head uncomfortably. "Blood...excites me."

"You mean, the bad kind of excites."

"Uh-huh."

"You mean really bad."

"Yup." I fell silent; I studied my flashing ebony nails, then looked away self-consciously. "And meat, too. Raw meat and deliciously cooked meat equally choke me up."

She smiled wryly. "Too bad my mom cooks so well."

I looked up. Then, slowly, I began to smile back. My voice was almost breathless. "I can't believe this."

"Believe what?" She was laughing breathlessly, too.

"I'm actually talking to a human being," I stated. "Talking about, about _me_. And laughing about it."

"Well, I really don't see anything wrong with you at all," she declared staunchly. "I mean it."

My smile grew wide, and I spread my left wing over her back in a sort of arm-less hug. "Thanks so much. That feels so much better."

"It does, doesn't it?" A wistful look suddenly came over her dark eyes, as if she wished she could tell somebody some things too. I assumed she chose not to, mainly because she was the leader of this motley crew and couldn't say everything she wanted to. Much like me, in fact, except that I wasn't the leader of anyone or anything in particular at all, for that matter. "Just another question."

"What?" My small laugh faded back into a cautious frown.

"You seem to trust Jay a lot."

I grimaced. "That's not a question."

"Yes, it is. It just doesn't have a question mark at the end."

I shook my head in a "forget it" motion. "I don't trust him, really," I said warily.

"Really?"

"No." I shook my head emphatically. "But I trust him a whole lot."

"Oh," she said. Max raised a brow. "Why?"

I threw up my hands and abruptly rose. I began to pace the room agitatedly. "I don't know. Honestly. Heck, I don't even know _why_ I let him save me. That was utterly humiliating."

"Um, human instinct?" she suggested.

I laughed humorlessly. "If I'm human."

She frowned. "Not to be rude or anything, but you seem...mad at the world."

"No, I'm not!" I exclaimed more loudly than I'd ever intended to. I quickly lowered my voice. "And I'm not defensive. I'm just...well...I guess...mad at _myself_."

"But why?" She leaned closer on the bed, following my every move as I paced to and fro like a feline.

I grasped my curls in my clawed fingers and pulled agitatedly at the roots. "For being so weak."

She bit back a laugh. "I don't know if this is a compliment or what, but, Flash, you just seem so _strong_ to me."

"That's just it!" I shot back. "I follow my animal instincts too much. I become harsh, cruel, and heartless. I can't even pity myself. And I always gave in...when They baited me."

"What?" She shook her head uncomprehendingly.

I took a deep breath. "I mentioned this to Jay before, but I never went into so much detail. I don't know which idiot's head got switched with mine that I'm even sharing this with you, either." I shrugged. "But obviously I am, so I may as well go ahead."

She gestured with a hand. "Be my guest. I don't want you to explode like my first pot pies."

I rolled my eyes and reluctantly moved to sit down next to her again. I cleared my throat. "Like, my storytelling sucks."

"So does mine," she retorted. "And my _grammar_ sucks. Yours seems tolerable enough."

"Yeah, right." I waved a hand in her direction. Finally, I decided I couldn't put it off any longer.

"It started when I was ten years old."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The head whitecoat stepped out into the whitewashed halls and made her way briskly toward the grilled exit, her heels clicking professionally on the tiles in perfect rhythm with the minute changes of her emotionless expression. She flipped a wave of dark brown hair impatiently from her shoulder. "You there, Ronan," she shot at a younger whitecoat hurrying past.

The young woman halted in her tracks and wheeled frantically about. "Yes, Dr. Conroy?"

"Is the subject already prepared?"

The young woman pushed back light blonde hair from her grey eyes and glanced quickly at a bunch of loose sheets in her hands. She sifted through them and at last found what she was looking for. "That would fe6673k, Dr. Conroy?"

"Yes, it would," the older woman shot back steelily.

"Yes, Dr. Conroy, proper arrangements have been made for it. The subject has already been subdued and awaits deployment."

"Good," the doctor pronounced crisply. She motioned irritably with her head. "Go."

The young woman bobbed her head and flowed away down the hall. Sighing, Dr. Conroy turned back and pressed herself against the handle of the exit door. A blast of bitter sharp wind sliced through her hair and her skin, but she merely stood unmoved before making her way at an even quicker place toward the clearing.

A host of about a dozen or more whitecoats were assembled in a rough semicircle around the subject: it was actually a girl, more human-like than any of their other subjects, and one of their youngest yet. Her hair was dark mahogany, her skin a deep tan, and her wings a deep chocolate brown to match. They were folded awkwardly behind her inside the cage, and the girl herself was curled up in an unnatural and uncomfortable position; the circles under her sharp green eyes were alarmingly dark, and her arms and legs were lean beyond reason. Dr. Conroy stiffened and quickly looked away. She took a deep breath before she could feel the steel returning to her voice.

"This is the fourth experiment of this type on subject fe6673k," she informed the congregated whitecoats. "The stag has been immobilized and stationed five hundred yards away, hidden by foliage. In a few moments, the subject will be released from its confines, and by the hypothesis will go straight for its prey. Thatcher, you will keep an eye on the stopwatch, use the binoculars to track the subject's movement, and measure the time it takes to reach its prey. Then stop the timing."

"Yes, doctor."

"And you, Arya, watch the signals on the computer sent by the sensors on its collar. Track its path and note any significant distractions or deviations from the expected course. These add or subtract from the time. We want to see how focused the subject is."

The older woman with her silver hair piled on her head simply complied with a nod.

Dr. Conroy raised her hand and waited until all were settled and looking at her expectantly. Then she flicked her hand and nodded to Thatcher, who simultaneously started the stopwatch just as a younger Dr. Wharton flung open the cage.

The subject zoomed out at a breathtaking speed, coasting merely half a foot off the ground with its dark brown wings tucked in tight against its narrow frame. In perfect coordination, it brought in its wings closer against its body and angled downward gradually until its legs were level and its feet hit the ground hard. Then it set off at a run.

It was so poignantly beautiful.

Every bone, every muscle, every single cell in its body was arced forward in one graceful leap, reaching for the kill. It whistled past the rustling the leaves like the west wind and cleared the twisted boughs that had fallen in its intended path. The subject pushed even harder, panting, no doubt already succumbing to its overpowering olfactory senses. The smell of blood and meat was perhaps very faint--even Dr. Conroy could not detect it--but already the subject was becoming uncontrollably excited. Dr. Conroy admitted to herself that she was impressed.

"Making good time, doctor," Thatcher spoke up.

She nodded without looking at him. "I know. Six seconds and already two-thirds the length."

The young doctor looked astounded.

Dr. Conroy graced him with one of her ever-rare half-smiles. "I counted." Her eyes never once left the subject, that beautiful and proud creature, her very own creation. The only one she could ever claim as wholly hers.

Then, suddenly, it happened.

Dr. Arya drew in her breath sharply, an unexpected response from a normally cold and calm woman. She opened her mouth but was interrupted midsentence by the ripping growl.

"Total deviation from course! Opposite course of vector! Prepa--"

Dr. Conroy hardly heard her. One moment she was standing placidly at the head of the group, eyes trained on the tiny winged figure ahead, and then all of a sudden her ears were filled with a rending shriek and a furious batting of gigantic feathers. Her arms shot out and encountered a cold, dead metal hand. The subject's right hand.

The subject had reversed and flown back directly toward her at top speed. No pause, no hesitation, no nothing. As if it had planned on doing this all along.

"You idiots! Wharton, Reilly, fetch assistance!"

The woman batted ineffectually at the strong swipes of dark wing in her face. She came up from the ground with a mouthful of dark feathers and plenty of ugly lacerations on her arms. She opened her mouth to gulp in a deep breath and spring up, ready to match reflexes, but the subject was too fast for her. An unearthly scream of "STOP!" ripped from its throat, before a slicing pain shredded her chest.

She knelt there in the wet grass, watching the blood from her chest flow down her spotless coat and pool by her hands on the ground. She was dimly aware of the subject crouching over her, a humongous ten-foot wingspan shadow. It was sweating and breathing heavily, laboring for each gulp of air, its fists clenching and unclenching. Its emaciated body was shuddering uncontrollably. Now the smell of blood was rank in the air, and the doctor could not deny it.

The subject had refused the tortuous need for raw meat to turn back and attack its jailkeepers. And now the temptation of the smell was too much for it to bear.

A/N: *smiles a little* A little cliffie...and a little incentive for you to review. *threatens* If I don't get any reviews, I won't update. And I mean REALLY reviews. *breaks into a tiny smile* Okay, I was just joking. But really, I'll update faster if I get reviews.

~Katrina Mae


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

**Max**

All was silent for a terribly long moment.

Flash's head was now bowed, her head obscured by her gorgeous brown ringlets. Being a girl and knowing a lot more about girls' feelings than any stupid guy would, I scooted closer and wrapped an arm around her. She didn't resist this time, just as I'd predicted.

"You okay?" I asked her, the mother in me rising to the occasion.

She nodded silently.

"Mind if I ask...what happened at that time?"

She shrugged. "It was okay," she croaked. "Lots of blood, tons of people screaming. But a bunch of idiots got me off her, and they must have shipped her off to a whitehouse and patched her all up."

"Whitehouse?"

"Hospital."

"Oh." Well, yeah, duh. That made sense. "So, why did you feel so bad about it?"

She turned and gave me a you're-_so_-out-of-it look. "I was ninety-five percent close to taking a life, no matter if it belonged to a savage toothless rat."

I winced. I remembered the time when I _had_ taken a life-my own brother Ari's. By a miracle of science, he had been restored to life in perfect working condition, with the exception of resembling Frankenstein's monster and being kicked into high gear to kill me.

"Sometimes..." Flash trailed off. She glanced down at her metal fist and unclenched it, letting the tiny wicked knife pop out into view. "I feel so unworthy and...and _animal-like_-"

"Bestial?" I offered uncertainly. Having Ella for a half-sister had to rub off sometime.

"Uh, yeah. Bestial. I just wish I could take out this hand, or take out this life."

"But you didn't exactly _do_ anything," I pointed out a little sharply.

She sighed in exasperation. "That's just the point! I don't do any good. All I live for is this insanity of science and for blood. Then when I'm gonna kill a person, I..." She couldn't finish.

"Max?"

My head jerked up at Fang's urgent voice. That was rare-he was Mr. Calm, Cool, and Collected.

"House on fire?" I asked quickly.

"No. Somewhat worse than that."

"What in (fill in the blank) could be worse than-"

"Max," said Fang again. "Jeb's back. And he's got some other men with him."

"Aw, crap," I muttered.

Flash's piercing green eyes were wide with anxiety. No doubt she had seen everything that had passed between me and Fang and had already guessed just what kind of job Jeb and those _other men_ held. Whitecoats.

Despite everything in me that told me to prep for a battle, my more rational side of a leader's mind told me safety and investigation first. "Fang, get Nudge, Ella, Gazzy, Ig, and my mom out of sight. Just leave Angel-I think we'll need her. But I wouldn't advise Jay to be present. Hide the rest of 'em."

"On it." In a flash of black he was swooping down the stairs, already calling out in a low voice the instructions to my flock.

"I'm gonna puke," muttered Flash.

"Whatever, just not on my bed," I told her brusquely. I grabbed her wings and stuffed them under the jacket I threw her; till now she hardly knew how to fold them properly. I wriggled my own golden ones tight inside my shirt and fixed my jacket, aligning the slits better just in case I had to bolt.

"Max?" This time it was a different voice. I ground my teeth together, clenched my jaw, and marched down the steps.

"Jeb," I greeted my father stiffly.

"It's good to see you," he lied. His eyes flitted to Fang, who had laid a protective hand over Angel's golden curls. Jeb hadn't changed one bit since the last time-there he was, still moderately haggard, and still insincere.

"Who are the other men?" I demanded. No need to ask _how_ I knew they were there.

"Max, they're my coworkers. They were thinking of...interviewing one of your guests."

I narrowed my eyes. "Guests?"

Jeb sighed. "Your mother told me about the other bird-kids."

I swore shamelessly under my breath, regardless of whether Angel was there or not. "And what the hell would they want with an interview? Blood tests? DNA patch-ups?"

"Max, be reasonable-"

"Absolutely not! You be reasonable!" I couldn't hide my distaste for him anymore. "You practically _abandon_ the six of us to our deaths for years, then show up as a whitecoat serving Them, and now you expect me to just hand over to you somebody who's one of us? Excuse me."

"I don't see how you can justify your uncoopera-"

"Uncooperation yourself!" I flung at him. "Get your butt out this door this instant!"

"Max, can't I at least speak to your mom about thi-"

"No. And that's final!"

His shoulders slumped in defeat. Then, suddenly, one of the burly whitecoated men waiting outside barged right in and made for the stairs, with at least three others trailing behind.

Quick as thought, I snapped open my wings and zipped up to the top step, barring the way. "Just where do you people think you're going?"

The tall one in front, thinner than the others, whipped out a gun and pointed it straight between my eyes. "I'm going where I want to go."

It was a woman's voice.

"Get off her!" Fang growled, tackling the woman from the side and taking the others completely by surprise. Angel yelled an unintelligible battle cry and flew into the melée as well, with Jeb gesturing and yelling uselessly as he ran up the stairs toward us.

Just then the door of my bedroom was flung open, and Flash whizzed out with her wings fully extended. She coasted down the hall and zoomed straight down, her eyes wild with an uncontrollable fire.

"You!" the woman screeched. I thought she was talking to me, since we were conveniently grappling each other's faces in our hands at the moment, but then I looked up and saw Flash descending with a vengeance in her.

"You are coming back with me this instant!" the woman shrilled. She shoved me away with amazing strength even for a human and sent me bumping down a couple of steps, where I hit my head with a _thwack_ against a banister. I shook my head clear and leaped back to my feet in a flash. I saw blurs of distorted colors as Nudge, Gazzy, Iggy, and Jay yelled their way into view. They'd come just in time.

Flash was raging, grappling desperately with the woman. I saw the deadly knife popping in and out of sight from her right palm. Someone was going to get hurt, I knew. I wanted to yell at Flash to run, but in her craze she would never have heard me anyway. Then I was toppled to my side by a heavyset whitecoat with a fist worthy of a boxing champion's. Occupied, I whirled and shot straight up, then booted him squarely in the jaw from midair. I wheeled again and punched somebody-narrowly missing Iggy's ear-and landed a solid right hook on somebody's eye. I wildly hoped it was Jeb's.

"Everybody, freeze!"

It was the woman's voice again, but louder and more commanding, even triumphant. Sure enough, I froze. And slid my gaze up.

She'd somehow managed to pin Flash's hands behind her, and I could see the pain twisting Flash's face as some handfuls of her hair got yanked in as well. Then my eyes zeroed in on the pistol pressed against the side of Flash's head.

"Nobody will move until I tell them to," continued the woman in the roaring silence. "You will let me take this subject with me and not pursue us. Otherwise, I would advise you to prepare for war."

I took a quick step forward, but the woman only shoved the barrel harder against Flash's temple. I halted.

Flash was breathing hard. "Run," she mouthed to me.


End file.
